


use your hands and my spare time

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, First Time, Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knows he's being a shit, but for some reason tonight he can't seem to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	use your hands and my spare time

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote a little AU snippet on tumblr the other day that made passing mention of harry fancying nick prior to meeting him from having watched him on TV, and somehow that idea got stuck in my brain and this (non-AU) fic happened. 
> 
> title from "sex" by the 1975.
> 
> note that whilst Harry is 18 in this fic, there is discussion of him masturbating when under 18, so don't read if that bothers you.
> 
> also, fair warning for a bit of an obsession with nick's hands, which, if you've seen them, I feel is entirely justified.

Harry knows he's being a shit, but for some reason tonight he can't seem to stop. "Why not, though, Grimmy?" he asks, running a hand down his bare chest, tweaking a nipple as he goes. "Don't you think I'm fit?"

Nick's sat up the other end of the sofa, back straight, both feet flat on the floor like he's in church or something, eyes fixed on the telly and totally ignoring Harry sprawled out next to him. "Because, young Harold," he says, sounding bored, "some of us have some self-control. Anyway, hasn't anybody ever told you it's terribly gauche to expect me to fancy you just because I happen to be gay? You don't expect all your straight lady friends to want you, do you?"

Harry knows he shouldn't smirk, but he's got three beers on an empty stomach thrumming through him, and besides, he thinks he's quite funny.

After a moment of Harry not answering, Nick gives in and looks across at him, then rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Oh, for Christ's sake. What am I saying, of course you expect everyone to fancy you, you smug little shit." 

Harry does a little self-satisfied wriggle, relishing the feeling of the rough sofa fabric against his bare back. He's at that lovely point of tipsy where everything feels better, more intense. "Not _absolutely_ everyone," he concedes in a thoughtful tone. "I mean, some of them are married, so they're excused. And I suppose if they, like, had some sort of problem where they couldn't see properly, that would be okay, too." He pauses to consider, then adds, "Though they'd still, have, like, four other senses to go on, so, maybe not."

"Eighteen years old," Nick says wonderingly, shaking his head at Harry. "Practically an infant and already with an ego so large it can be seen from space." Nick takes a sip of his beer, then puts the bottle down on the coffee table. Harry finds himself a bit distracted by the way Nick's throat works when he swallows, and startles when Nick wraps a hand, cold from the beer, around his ankle. "D'you know, Styles, I'm beginning to think somebody needs to take you down a peg or two. Call your bluff. See how smug you are then."

A shiver runs down Harry's spine. It's just because Nick's hand is cold, he tells himself, and nothing to do with the way Nick said _take you down_. Nothing at all.

"Oh yeah?" he says, trying to recapture his earlier bravado, and aware he's probably not succeeding. "You going to be the one do it, then?"

Nick's fingers tighten on Harry's ankle. He seems to have abandoned all pretense of watching the telly, eyes fixed on Harry instead, his expression unreadable. "Would you like that, Styles?" He lets go of Harry's ankle and runs his fingers up the inseam of Harry's jeans, stopping when he reaches Harry's crotch and just resting his hand on the bulge there. "Is that what you were asking me for?"

Harry shivers again, full body this time. He's half-hard, has been since he took his shirt off and spread out on the sofa, just from being half-naked and a bit tipsy and eighteen to boot, and Nick's hand isn't helping. He's not sure if he wants to spread his legs, push up into it, or if he wants Nick to take his hand away altogether. He doesn't know how they've ended up in this position at all. "Nick," he says, helplessly, half-protest, half-plea.

Nick's expression twists into a sneer. "That's what I thought." He moves his hand away and Harry finds himself chasing it after all, hips lifting a little off the sofa, trying to get it back. "Don't go around asking for things you don't really want, popstar, it’s not polite."

"No, wait." Harry scrambles up to his knees, suddenly desperate to have Nick touch him again. "Wait, Nick, but what if - " he bites his lip. Nick's back to mostly looking at the television, Stephen Fry droning on about something or other, but he raises an eyebrow in Harry's direction, giving him enough confidence to say, "But what if I did want. I mean, that. You."

Nick turns an assessing gaze on him, then shakes his head. "No. You're drunk, Harry," he says. "You're eighteen and drunk and you think it'd be a laugh to get off with a bloke, but I'm not going to do that with you." He goes back to the telly again.

This is - shit. This is not how Harry had thought this evening would go at all; he really thought he'd just been messing around, but now that he knows there's a possibility, that maybe Nick _would_ , that he might actually consider - fuck. Maybe this was why Harry hadn't been able to stop himself from pushing Nick, before, even when he'd known he was being annoying, because it's suddenly all he wants.

Harry grabs the remote from the coffee table and switches the television off. 

Nick makes a little noise of irritation. "You're not helping your case by acting like a child, Harry."

"Only because you're not listening to me!" he bursts out, then immediately winces. Trying not to sound like a child, right. He lowers his voice. "You're not listening to me, Nick, I'm trying to tell you that I want to have sex with you." There, he's said it nice and clearly, using the proper words and everything, like a grownup.

Nick shakes his head again. "You're drunk," he repeats.

"I'm not," Harry says. He knows what he must look like, cheeks flushed, but it's not from the beers, it's from a mix of frustration and still being a bit turned on. "I'm really not, I only had three beers, I'm fine. Here, I'll prove it to you, I bet I can still walk in a straight line."

He starts to get up from the sofa but Nick puts a hand on his forearm, stopping him, and says, "Don't be silly, you can't do that even when you're completely sober." He's got a half-smile on his face, though, and some of the awful feeling in Harry's chest eases at the sight of it.

"Okay, fine," he says, settling back on the sofa, sitting up on his knees facing Nick. "But if you won't let me prove it then you have to believe me; I'm a tiny bit tipsy now, but that's it. And I mean it, I want to have sex with you." He feels himself flush even more as he says it.

Nick's hand is still on his arm. "Even if I take your word that you're not drunk - and I'm not saying that I do, mind - you still haven't got the faintest idea what you're asking for."

Saying, "Do, too," would probably be counterproductive, Harry thinks. "What can I say to convince you?" he asks instead.

Nick sighs, like he can't believe he's doing this. "Alright. I'm assuming you've not ever gotten off with a bloke before?" He waits for Harry to shake his head. "Thought not. Tell me honestly, then, have you ever even gotten off thinking about it?"

If Harry was blushing before, he's positively burning up, now. He can feel it spreading all the way down his throat to the top of his chest. "Thinking about being with a bloke? I - yeah. I have."

"Really? Who were you thinking about?"

Harry can't believe he's actually having this conversation with Nick. He shrugs, trying to be casual about it. "Lots of people."

"Don't give me that, Harold, come on now. I want names or we stop talking about it."

Harry would absolutely love to stop talking about it and get on with having sex, but he figures that's not what Nick means. "People you don't know, mostly, like people from school. And then people off the telly - Beckham, when he did those underwear ads. And - " he probably shouldn't say this, but things are already going to be weird between them after this evening, and there's a small chance it might convince Nick that he's serious, so what the hell, "and you."

Nick looks genuinely surprised. "You - really? You've thought about me? Like that?"

Harry shrugs. "Yeah, like, before I knew you, when I'd just seen you on the telly and that. I thought you were really fit."

Nick barks out a laugh. "And then you met me, and found out I'm a haggard old goat, and that was the end of that."

"No. Nick, no. I didn't mean - I just thought it might make things weird, like, you're my mate now, so." Fuck, he's completely bollocksed this up, Nick's never going to want to see him again after tonight. 

But oddly, Nick's smiling, almost cheeky. "So you're telling me that baby Harry Styles used to fancy Nick Grimshaw off the telly? Is that what you're saying? Go on, then, what did young Harry fancy about me, was it my handsome face? My lovely legs? My sparkling wit?"

Harry buries his face in his hands. "Fuuuck, Nick," he groans. "Don't make me do this."

"No, really," Nick says. "Come on, I'm dying to know. Ooh, was it my hair? No, scratch that, sorry, my hair was awful back then, you must've been blind if you liked my hair. Was it my bum?"

He's clearly not going to let it go. Best get it over with. "Your hands," Harry mumbles into his own palms.

"I'm sorry, Harold, I didn't hear you, could you say it a bit louder?" Harry reluctantly lifts his head. Nick's right there, grinning at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly. "Come along, nice and clearly so the whole class can hear."

Fuck it. "It was your hands, Nick, okay?" Harry says. "Fuck, I can't believe you're making me do this. I used to think about your hands, like, your fingers are so long, I used to pretend it was you touching me when I was wanking myself off."

Nick's staring, mouth open. "Jesus Christ, Harry."

Harry flops back on the couch, not wanting to have to look at Nick's face when he says they can't be mates anymore because it's too weird to hang around with someone who used to get himself off thinking about you. "I fucking told you not to make me say it, now I've made things weird."

"No," Nick says. "Harry, I - fuck. No." He tugs on Harry's arm, pulling him back up to sitting. "I didn't mean Christ that's weird, I meant Christ that's hot." He's still staring, but it's a different kind of stare, and his gaze keeps dropping to Harry's mouth. "Can I - is it alright if I kiss you?"

Harry manages to nod, and then Nick's mouth is on his. 

It's so different from kissing a woman. Nick's stubbly, unshaven probably since Friday morning and it's Saturday evening now, bristles rasping against Harry's chin and lips. Nick's not shy about taking control of the kiss, either, licking Harry's mouth open and tasting him, taking what he wants. It leaves Harry a bit breathless. It's so long since he's been with anyone who wasn't at least a little bit intimidated by kissing _actual Harry Styles_ , and he's forgotten what it's like to be able to let himself go, let someone else call the shots and just lose himself in it.

Nick pulls back before Harry's ready for it to end, leaving him staring at Nick's mouth, wanting. His own lips feel pink and raw, like he's been kissing for hours, though it can't have been more than a minute.

"Alright?" Nick asks, looking at him carefully.

"Yeah." His voice comes out rougher than normal and he tries to clear his throat. "Yeah, good."

"Want more?"

"Like, more kissing? Or just - more?" Fuck, Harry hopes Nick means more. Harry’s cock's back to half-hard, nudging uncomfortably up against the zipper of his jeans. He drops a hand down and adjusts himself, trying to ease the pressure a bit. 

Nick's eyes follow the movement, and his tongue darts out over his lips. "More,” he says. "If you want."

Harry nods. "Yeah, I do." Fuck, he really does, like a lot, but he's trying not to seem too desperate. Trying to play it cool, like this is something he might do any day of the week, not something he's wanked over for years that he never thought would actually happen.

He lets Nick help him unfold his legs from beneath him and lie back, his head on the armrest, Nick crouching over him, bracketing his body. Nick's so tall that he's all knees and elbows to fit on the sofa and it should probably be silly, but somehow it's hot instead, the way he's made up of broad shoulders and sharp angles instead of soft curves.

"Still with me, popstar?" Nick asks, one arm propped next to Harry's head, the other stroking restlessly down Harry's side, and Harry's suddenly acutely, painfully aware of the fact that his belly is a bit pudgy and he's got a great big spot on his chin that just won't go away no matter how many creams he puts on it.

"Yeah, um." He licks his lips, watches Nick watch him do it. "Kiss me again?"

Nick does, ducking in and covering Harry's mouth with his. It's even better than before, with Nick above him like this; makes the way Nick's fucking his mouth with his tongue more reminiscent of another kind of fucking, something that - Harry tries not to moan into Nick's mouth as the thought occurs to him - something that Nick must've done before, for real.

Nick's still stroking up and down Harry's side as they kiss, and Harry fumbles his own hand up from where its just been lying there uselessly, captures Nick's and brings it across to press against his cock, still trapped in his too-tight jeans. Nick gets the idea quickly, runs a finger along Harry's flies up to the button at the top and then breaks away from the kiss to breathe, "Okay?" holding there, waiting.

"Yeah, please, fuck," Harry mumbles, and then Nick's kissing him again and undoing the button and sliding down the zipper one-handed. 

_Fuck, Nick's got moves_ , Harry thinks, stupidly, and then almost gasps with relief as Nick slides the waistband of his pants down over his cock and finally exposes it to the cool air.

A moment passes, and then another. Nick's not moving his hand and he's stopped kissing Harry, too. Harry keeps his eyes shut, half out of embarrassment and half hoping Nick'll get the hint and get on with it, but as the seconds drag on and Nick's still not showing any sign of moving, he musters his courage and cracks an eye open.

Nick's still right there but he's not looking at Harry's face; instead his gaze is directed down between them to where his hand is wrapped around the base of Harry's cock, wrist holding back the elastic of Harry's pants. His expression is bemused, which is not usually one Harry wants to see on his sexual partners when they've just got his cock out.

"Is... everything okay?" he makes himself ask, finally, when Nick's still not said anything.

Nick startles and looks up at Harry's voice, as if surprised to find Harry there. "What? Oh, sorry, yeah, I just - " he looks down at his hand again. "Do you know how to use this thing, Harold?" he asks.

What on earth? "I think so, yeah," Harry says. "Like - it works the normal way? Rub it and stuff comes out?"

Nick stares at him for a moment and then drops his head into the crook of Harry's neck, giggling. "Rub it and stuff comes out? _Rub it and stuff comes out?_ "

"Hey, you're the one that asked!" Harry says, offended. " _And_ you've just been sitting there holding it for bloody ages now instead of getting on with it!"

"Bloody stupidly attractive popstars with gigantic pricks they probably don't even know how to use properly, honestly, where's the justice in this world," Nick grumbles, but he does finally move his hand on Harry's cock, stroking once up to the head, slicking his thumb over the slit where Harry's leaking precome.

"Ohhh," Harry says, arching his back, pushing up into Nick's fist.

"Yeah? Is that alright, then?" Nick says. He pumps his hand down and up again. "Worth waiting for?"

Harry's not sure if he means, like, waiting a few seconds for Nick to get over his giggle fit just now, or waiting the years since he’d used to wank under the covers to thoughts of Nick's hands. He doesn't care, the answer either way is yes: Nick’s hands are giant, long fingers wrapping right round Harry’s cock, overlapping even, nothing like girls’ tiny hands. His grip is firm, though he is teasing a little, pumping quickly for a few strokes and then holding just below the head so Harry gets impatient and fucks up into his fist.

The fourth time he does it Harry might accidentally make a little whining noise. “Ni-ick, stop it.”

“Stop what?” Nick asks, all innocence. “Stop moving?” His hand stills altogether.

“No-oo, don’t.” Harry bucks up again. “I mean, keep going, stop stopping.”

“You’re not making any sense, Harold,” Nick says, but Harry’s pout must get to him because he grins and starts wanking Harry off properly, quick, steady strokes, with a little twist over the head that has Harry close in under a minute. Nick’s right there the whole time, face only a few inches above Harry’s, watching him as he comes apart, and when Harry feels his orgasm starting to build he suddenly can’t stand it anymore, Nick’s gaze too intense, and he turns his face into Nick’s shoulder. 

“Nick, I’m gonna,” he gasps into Nick’s shirt.

Like he’s been waiting for it, Nick stops moving. 

Harry resurfaces from Nick’s shirt to glare at him. “Wha - what the fuck, Nick, come on."

“No hiding,” Nick says. “I’ll get you off but I want to see you.”

Fuck. "What?"

"You heard me." Nick runs his fingers lightly along the length of Harry's cock. "You get to come but I get to watch, that's the deal."

"What kind of deal is that?" Harry demands. In response, Nick takes his hand away altogether and Harry shakes his head. "Oh, no, no, no, wait, come back. Okay, okay, no hiding, I promise."

"Good." Nick ducks in and presses a quick kiss to Harry's mouth, then resumes his grip on Harry's cock. "Don't be embarrassed, love, you look amazing like this."

Easy for him to say. Nick’s hand is relentless, though, and it doesn't take long until Harry's close again, balls drawing up, but it's such an effort to keep his eyes open, keep looking at Nick. He feels exposed, completely open, no bravado, no front, just him being taken apart right in front of Nick's eyes.

He bites his lip when he's nearly there, trying to keep the noises he wants to make from slipping out. Nick's kind enough not to call him out on it, just says, "Close, love?" and when Harry nods, speeds up, fist moving tight and perfect. “Come on then, come for me, let me see you.” 

Two more strokes and he’s there. His hips stutter as he spills over Nick’s fingers, a half-swallowed groan on his lips, but his eyes are open, looking right at Nick, and he feels himself shaking apart, breaking into pieces under Nick’s hands.

“Fuck, that’s it, you’re so amazing, Harry, Christ,” Nick’s saying, and then he’s kissing Harry, and Harry gives himself up to it gratefully, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the kiss. His lips are still rubbed raw from before and they feel puffy and swollen.

Nick eventually starts gentling the kiss, pressing little close-mouthed pecks to Harry’s lips and chin, and then draws back altogether. It takes Harry a long minute to be brave enough to open his eyes, but when he does Nick’s expression is fond. 

“Hi,” Nick says, gently. “You alright?” His hand’s still resting on Harry’s belly, sticky and damp. 

Almost surprised to find that he is, Harry nods. “Yeah, I’m - good. Really good.” It’s been ages since he’s felt like this after sex, like - like Nick’s seen a part of him that wasn’t meant to be on show, but made it okay, made it feel like there was no need to hide it after all.

“Good.” Nick pushes himself up onto his elbow, putting a bit of space between them. "Then you might want to go and clean up, you’re going to be very sticky in a moment.” He nods at Harry’s belly.

"But. I mean. You haven't - " he glances at Nick's shorts, where there's an obvious bulge; thank fuck Nick's not been totally unaffected by all this. "Don't you want a hand with that, first?"

Nick shrugs, like it's nothing, like he's not been hard for ages whilst getting Harry off. "Don't feel you're obliged, if you'd rather not."

"What? Nick, of course I want to - d'you think I'm a completely self-absorbed dickhead?"

Nick raises a pointed eyebrow and Harry feels himself flush again. 

"Okay, fair point. Sorry, like, about before, I know I was being a shit."

Nick holds his gaze for a moment, then breaks into a grin. "Never mind, popstar, I forgive you. All's well that ends, etcetera. But next time maybe you could just try saying, 'Nick, I think you're dead sexy and I've fancied you for ages, want to shag?'" He lowers his voice for the last bit, probably trying to do an impression of Harry, though for some reason it comes out sounding Scottish instead.

"What, do you only go for Scottish blokes now or something? Cheshire not good enough for you?" Harry asks, and Nick snorts and tickles him, going for the ribs where he's most sensitive. Harry squawks and retaliates, digging his fingers in to Nick's armpits, and then it's really on. Nick's incredibly ticklish, wriggling around like mad trying to get away, and soon they end up flipped around on the sofa, Nick on his back and Harry above him, trying to pin Nick's arms down to his sides. They're both red-faced from laughing and short of breath when Harry suddenly realises he's pretty much sitting right on top of Nick's cock, and freezes. 

Nick catches on to the reason for the truce pretty quickly and stops trying to tickle Harry, rolling his hips up gently against Harry's bum instead. "Oh yeah," he says, faux-casual, "weren't you going to lend me a hand with this?" and Harry's half-disappointed, half-relieved that Nick's still saying _hand_ rather than - rather than anything else he might've asked for, given their current position.

But a hand is easy, anyway; a hand he can do. "Yeah, okay," he says, and shuffles back so he's straddling Nick's thighs.

Getting Nick's shorts open is a bit of a fiddle, and in the end Nick takes over and undoes the buttons himself, then gets Harry to lift up for a second whilst he shoves his shorts and pants down off his hips, and then Harry's looking down at Nick's cock, long and thin like the rest of him, hard and curving up towards his stomach.

He must just sit there staring for longer than he realises, because Nick reaches out and touches him gently on the chin, tilting his head up to look at Nick. "Hey, you okay? Not freaking out on me?" 

Harry shakes his head. "No." More like - surprise, actually, at how much he likes looking at another bloke's hard prick. He hadn't expected to _want_ quite this much, fuck, he wants to get his mouth on it, which is - yeah. New.

"Come on, then, love," Nick says, "or do I have to do it myself?"

Right, okay. Harry takes a deep breath and wraps his fingers around Nick's cock. 

Turns out it's just like his own, hot and hard and familiar in Harry's hand, though the angle's not great on his wrist. He gives it a couple of experimental strokes, and Nick makes an encouraging noise, so he keeps going, firms up his grip a bit, tries to think about what he likes and then do it to Nick. It's strange, not getting instant feedback about what feels good, but at least Nick's vocal, groaning and pushing his hips up into Harry's hand when Harry does something he likes.

After a minute it just seems odd to be just sort of looking down at Nick like he is, so Harry shifts off Nick's thighs and lies down instead, squeezing himself in between Nick and the back of the sofa. This is much better: the angle's easier on his wrist, and if Nick'd just turn his head a bit to the side - yeah, there - they can kiss. 

Nick takes a while to get close, but he doesn't make Harry feel bad about it, keeps breaking away from the kiss to mumble things like, "Yeah, just - like that, can you go faster? That's it, fuck, keep going," so that Harry doesn't mind even when his arm starts to get tired. He's starting to get hard again anyway just from the kissing and the feel of Nick's cock in his hand, and he can't help rocking his up against Nick's side, cock nudging into the soft fabric of Nick's T-shirt.

"Are you - are you getting off on doing this?" Nick asks, the next time they break for air, and Harry nods, breathing his answer into Nick's mouth.

"Yeah, Nick, fuck, you feel so good, I can't help it - "

For some reason that seems to do it for Nick, because his cock suddenly pulses in Harry's hand and everything gets a lot wetter. Harry jerks him through it, loosening his grip but keeping his hand there until Nick gently pushes him away, saying, "That's enough, love."

Harry takes his hand away and looks down at Nick's belly, at his softening cock and coarse hair covered in come. _I did that_ , he thinks. He feels ridiculously proud, like he had the first time he'd gotten a girl off with his mouth, only this is somehow almost better, because with girls he always feels a little bit unsure - have they really come or just gotten bored and faked it so he won't feel bad? Nick definitely hasn't faked this, the evidence is right there.

"What are you looking so pleased with yourself about, popstar?" Nick mumbles. When Harry looks up Nick's got his eyes closed, a hint of colour high on his cheeks, quiff messed up from being squashed against the sofa. Overall, Harry thinks, post-orgasmic is a good look for him.

"Should I not be pleased with myself?" he asks. "I mean, that was alright, wasn't it, for a first go and everything?"

Harry can almost see the eye-roll, even though Nick's eyes remain firmly closed. "Very acceptable, Harold, yes. Now stop fishing for compliments, it's not polite."

Harry can't help the grin that spreads across his face. _Very acceptable_. Sick. He ducks down and lays a big wet smacking kiss on Nick's cheek. 

"Oi, stop that," Nick says. He's only pretending to be annoyed, Harry can tell. "We're having quiet time now, come here and cuddle. Or if you've got so much energy, why don't you go and get us a couple of flannels before we end up properly glued together."

Hmm. Probably a good idea, actually; Harry's already starting to feel a bit itchy in the groinal area. He climbs over Nick and off the sofa, jostling him as much as possible just to hear his muttered complaints, and wanders down to Nick's bathroom. There are a couple of flannels in the cupboard and he wets them under the tap, running the water until it's nice and warm. Then he cleans himself off with one, shucking his pants and jeans whilst he's at it - now that he's had actual sex with Nick he sees no need for any further pretense of modesty - and takes the other back to the sitting room.

Nick's in the same position Harry'd left him in, splayed out on the sofa, but he has gotten rid of his messy T-shirt so Harry assumes he's probably still alive, which is good. Harry would hate to have killed him with the power of sex. He barely moves, though, when Harry cleans him up with the wet flannel and then clambers on top of him for a cuddle, so he's either a better actor than previously suspected, or actually fast asleep. 

Harry has every intention of being good and letting Nick nap, but it's a serious struggle. He's still quite horny, is the problem, having got himself hard again rubbing against Nick but not actually gotten off. Also, his head's full of ideas. He's eighteen, and he's just had his first go at sex with a man, and it's gone pretty well, all things considered. Why stop there? He could absolutely go again.

He pokes Nick in the shoulder. "Nick. Nick. Ni-ick. Nick. Wake up."

Nick grabs his poking finger and holds it tight. "Shhh. Sleeping." 

Aha, not actually asleep, then. Good. Harry stretches up and gets his mouth right next to Nick's ear. "Nick," he murmurs. "I've just remembered, there's something else I used to think about you doing with your brilliant fingers when I wanked. Something a bit more - intimate. D'you want to try it?"

That's got him; one eyelid cracks open. "Just to be clear," Nick says, voice rough, "we're not talking about me knitting or anything here, are we?"

Harry snorts out a laugh. "Not unless you're a lot kinkier than I ever imagined."

Both of Nick's eyes are open, now, looking up at him with something like disbelief. "Then, you - really? You want that?"

"Yeah." Harry rolls his hips, his cock sliding in the bare hollow just above Nick's hipbone, and Nick's hands come up to hold his waist, holding him still. "Me and my - what did you call it? Oh yeah, my _gigantic prick_ would quite like it, we think."

Nick digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Harry's waist, making him shiver. "What did I say earlier about you and your ego, Styles?"

"I think you promised to take me down a peg or two," Harry says. "And d'you know what? Suddenly I'm really looking forward to it."


End file.
